The Big Enchilada

looked around to see if there was anything else I should take, and the phone rang. I looked at it, trying to decide if I should answer it or not. I had turned off my machine, so that was no help. It rang some more. It might be the crooks or it might be the cops.
    I picked it up. It was both. It was Ratchitt.
    “Hunter, I’ve got some bad news for you.” He was gloating.
    “What’s that?”
    “Your good pal, Charlie Watkins. He couldn’t take it anymore. He killed himself.”
    It wasn’t possible for Ratchitt to have heard yet. That meant he knew. It could mean he did it. Stupid of him to call me. They were so confident of themselves that they were getting careless. They didn’t care what I knew or what I didn’t know.
    “How’d he do it?” I said.
    “Bullet in the mouth.Messy.”
    “But effective.”
    “Very.”
    “You wouldn’t have any idea why he did it, would you?”
    “How could I know?” Ratchitt laughed. He couldn’t even be bothered to put up a good act. “But I have a feeling some people might be asking you that.”
    “What would I know?”
    He laughed again. “Nothing, Hunter. Absolutely nothing. That’s what’s so funny.” He laughed some more and then continued. “People are getting real concerned about you, Hunter. Hear you’ve been depressed lately.”
    “Me? No. I’m not depressed. I take great interest in the many curious occurrences of life.”
    “No, Hunter. You’ve been depressed. Everything that’s been happening is taking its toll. It’s getting to be too much for you. You’d better watch it. You never know, but you might get one of those suicidal urges too, and before you change your mind, it’ll be too late.”
    “You really think that might happen?”
    “I’m afraid I do. But you know, a nice long rest away from all this stress and strain, away from the mysteries of life, might do you a world of good.”
    “As much good as, say, thirty years in San Quentin would do you?”
    His voice grew hard. “Some people just don’t know what’s in their best interests. Think about it, sucker.” He hung up-The anger came over me again. I drifted off for a second, thinking how much pleasure it would give me to bring Ratchitt down. But first things first.
    I looked out the corner of the window. I had told what’s-her-name to keep the cops busy for about ten minutes and then to work really hard because I’d be coming down. She played her part well. I heard her ask for some help applying her suntan oil, and both cops were out of the car in a flash. If they responded to their police calls that quickly, they’d have an enviable arrest record. They fought over the bottle of oil and then both set to work on her body like a pair of kneading machines in a bakery.
    As I strolled down the driveway, I noticed that the bikini bottom had become untied. Everybody involved seemed to be enjoying themselves. Ah, Hunter, you spread pleasure wherever you go.
    I reached my car and drove it to where I thought it wouldn’t be found. I caught a bus and got off at a car rental agency where I got myself a new, inconspicuous set of wheels. That took care of one problem.
    I rode along Ventura and pulled in at the Love Nest Adult Motel. .The walls of the motel lobby were covered with centerfold pinups. From the number of magazines it took to accomplish that bit of decorating, it was obvious that someone was a lover of literature.
    In answer to my shout, the manager emerged from the rear. He was a scrawny, bald-headed little guy with only a couple of yellow teeth in his head and a bad squint. He had a three-day growth of beard that made his face look dirty. He wore a discolored sleeveless undershirt, and suspenders held up an overly large pair of pants that looked more like hip waders than anything else.
    He popped a breath mint into his mouth and pushed the register across to me. This seemed to be the favored accommodation of a lot of different members of the Smith family. Not wanting to break with tradition, I signed the same way.
    “How many hours you want the room for, Mr. Smith?”
    Amazing. He didn’t look at the register, but he knew my name just the same. I noticed he had a faint southern accent.
    “I might be here for a couple of days.”
    “Suit yourself. Most of the guests only stay a couple of hours, but maybe you got more going on. You want a regular or an X-rated one?”
    “Regular.”
    “The X-rated are real nice. Eight-foot water beds. Mirrors on three walls and the